Loyalty
by MedicalNonsense
Summary: Set during WWII, Gilbert, a high-ranking military man is told to investigate a small French home out in the country; a home he is already familiar with and the last place he hopes to find a beloved fugitive.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, so, this is unconventional of me as I don't usually do AUs but it was the only way I could think of making this request work. This is for Flufflebooty who requested a PruCan fic with inspiration from Say Anything's song Alive With The Glory of Love.

I hope I didn't disappoint, here it is!

!%!%!

The sun shined, the clouds blew in the wind high in the sky, birds flew and sang… But off in the distance of this tranquil French countryside drove a group of old German-made cars. They drove shakily on the old dirt road heading for a small farmhouse.

The drivers all parked their cars behind their leader's on the hill. The well-respected (but decidedly odd in appearance) leader stepped out of his car, straightening his uniform. A few of his men walked up to him, saluting until he told them to be at ease.

"_Stay here._" Their commander ordered, "_I'll signal if your assistance is needed._" The men saluted again and he nodded to him, they going back to their cars to wait.

Amidst their exchange, the owner of the house had opened the door and was leaning on the frame. His blonde hair was pulled back loosely at the base of his neck and swung over his shoulder, his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"_Bonjour._" The strange Nazi greeted the Frenchman, a "benevolent" smile on his face. The wind blew his silver locks, the sun beautifully dancing off the strands and making his ruby-red eyes sparkle.

"_Bonjour_…" The blonde replied likewise, looking over the approaching man's shoulder at his companions that seemed to be itching to raise their guns.

"_Come on Francis, aren't you going to invite me in_?" The Frenchman's old friend asked, a little bit of his sly self working into his smile.

"_I am confused, Gilbert… Why is a Nazi pig like you here_?" If he were anyone else but Francis, Gilbert would have raised his gun up high and shot him right then and there. But, since it _was_ Francis, the albino took it with a simple chuckle.

"You know vhy I'm hier." he said with a swiftly dimming smile. "Dis ist de only place he coult be." Gilbert hissed and Francis rolled his eyes, irritated beyond belief.

"You _must_ be joking _monsieur_." Francis laughed mockingly, "He high-tailed eet outta hier to our broz'er een Amereeca. You remember Alfred?" Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"Cahn I _please_ come ihn Francis?" He insisted and the Frenchman's brow furrowed angrily.

"Noh, you listen to me-" Gilbert shoved the man inside, casting a warning glance over his shoulder at his men before closing the door behind him.

"You ahre nod ihn any position to be ortering _me_ arount, Francis." Gilbert growled under his breath, beginning to pace away from him. "I ahm nod hier to make var."

"I beg to diffeer." The younger of the two began to step away. "You expect _me_ to sell out dee location of my own broz'er. _Even_ if he was heir,-"

"I ahm going to schtop you dere." Gilbert held up a gloved finger, "I ahm _nod_… Really, Francis, you ahre my besd freund." The Frenchman looked away, scoffing, there was no way in Hell this man was going to get him to believe him. This man who had somehow through all odds managed to be of complete Prussian heritage was a master of lies and tricks. Before the war started, before his goddamn Chancellor had taken over, this was a good thing. Now that he had been through the military training though… Francis sincerely doubted much good was left in him. "Und Mathieu…" Gilbert looked away and Francis braced himself for the next lie about to come from his mouth. "You know." His red eyes came back and bored into the Frenchman, spelling out what the Prussian was not going to say.

"I cannot trust to tell you where he ees. I can tell you zat he ees not een Amereeca zough. He resides wizin Arthur's nation, but he refused to take heem een." Francis explained, surprising Gilbert by bothering to completely pronounce Arthur's name. The brothers were on constant bad terms as of late, they had never gotten along too well, but in the past few years it had gotten worse.

"You know, Francis, id's nod goot dat you ahre lying to me." Gilbert tapped his boot on the floor, it resonating hollowly beneath it.

"So what? I have a cellar." There was a nervous ring to his voice and Gilbert knew he had found where Matt had been hiding. The silverette smirked, chuckling in the back of his throat, "Gilbert… Please…" The pleading in Francis' eyes told all; why in Hell had the dumb blonde picked _this brother_ to hide with? "You claim to be my friend." Francis was working hard to pronounce all his words accent-free. "You claim to _feel_ something for Mathieu… But here you are. All dolled up like the Nazi you are, a contradictory one at that."

Gilbert's brow furrowed, "Mathieu. I'm nod going to hurd you, I jus' vant to see you." he said to the air, infuriating Francis, making him stomp his foot.

"He is _not_ here!" The blonde one roared, a mortified look coming over his face at the tapping from the underside of the floor. A smirk twisted Gilbert's face and Francis swore he could feel his heart stop.

"My, my… Harboring a fugidive? I coult kill you now _und_ dat liddle brad." Francis grabbed for a large chopping knife when Gilbert brandished his gun. "Bud, dat's nod vhat I'm going to do." The white-knuckled grip Francis had on the knife told Gilbert that he would not hesitate to stab him if need be. "Led me indo de _kellar_ now."

"You must be mad _monsieur_." The other hissed, Gilbert cocked and held up his gun at him, Francis' eyes flicking to it for a moment.

"Vhich of us do you dink ist fasder?" Gilbert challenged, quirking his brow as if there was only one very obvious answer.

"You traitorous pig." Francis spat at his ex-friend's feet, shoving the small kitchen table aside to reveal the entry to the cellar. He pulled the trapdoor open and looked up to Gilbert who just motioned for him to go down inside. Narrowing his eyes, Francis grudgingly complied, climbing down into the mostly empty room. Gilbert followed him down, closing the door behind him, just barely avoiding Francis stabbing him with his knife. He made quick work of him, grabbing and twisting his wrist until he dropped the knife.

"I tolt you, I'm _nod_ heir to fighd you." The albino whispered calmly into Francis' ear. "I only vand to see Mathieu." He released the blonde and shoved him away, lighting a match and locating a candle on a small cabinet nearby.

"G-Gil?" Came a small voice from somewhere in the corner of the room. Sighing audibly, Gilbert looked to the small strawberry blonde tucked away in the corner, slowly rising himself up. For a few moments, the Nazi stood there and stared at him. It had been at least two years since he had last had the ability to see him. And now that he was so close… Gilbert lit the candle and handed it to the very annoyed blonde behind him, putting his gun away.

"_Ja_ Mathieu, id's me." Gilbert's shoulders looked tense, Mathieu's trust in him being dubious at best. The Prussian took two tentative steps forward, expecting either Mathieu to back away or Francis to chuck that candle at him, when neither happened he smiled. "I'fe misst you." Then Gilbert made a face looking back over his shoulder momentarily "_Bode_ of you."

"I've missed you too." Mathieu said timidly, still unsure about whether or not Gilbert was being truthful earlier.

"Den come hier." The albino opened his arms to him, Mathieu slowly walking over to him to put his own around him. Gilbert held him tightly even as sobs began to rack Mathieu's frame. "I'm sorry. Soh sorry." He apologized sincerely, "I nefer schoult hef-"

"Gil…" Mathieu looked at him, Gilbert's hand coming up to wipe away the tears, "If you hadn't I wouldn't be here. You didn't let them take me." Gently, they pressed their lips together, Francis respectfully averting his eyes from the pair. "Bruises are superficial and heal. I still love you." The light smile on Gilbert's face spread.

"I schtill lof you too." They kissed again, deeper this time, Mathieu's hands threading into the hair they had been missing. "I voult screw you now if I coult." The younger man giggled and Gilbert remembered the first time he had told the Frenchman he was in love with his youngest brother. _Livid_ didn't properly express the intensity of his anger. There was a considerable age difference (Gilbert now being thirty-five and Mathieu barely even twenty-five), Gilbert was a military man just like his own brother, a trickster-unscrupulous by nature, and Francis' childhood friend. "Bud, I cahn'd led you schtay heir."

That gave both of the blondes in the room pause, "What?" Francis asked, skeptical again that his old friend wasn't being completely honest in his motives. Mathieu tried to push away from him, but Gilbert was loathe to let him go, he had been so stupid to do so before and he wasn't going to yet.

"Bode of you… I don'd vand you to schtay hier. You neet to leaf France."

"_And_? How do you propose we do so? You obviously were _ordered_ to come here, which means I am under suspicion. If I suddenly up and leave I will be pursued." Francis folded his arms, still holding the candle. Gilbert nodded, his friend had been right.

"I vill arrange for your leaf." He looked back down to Mathieu in his arms, "Und den, I vill join you." Well, there was a surprise, the two civilians' brows went up in curiosity.

"I ahm loyal to my schtade, nod to some… Prad of a leater. He hes _ruint_ us. De economy, oh, _ja_ dat's _gread_, bud vhat of our decency? I joint feeling dat I vas prodecding de nation, nod killing innocent people fur being differend." To say that Gilbert sounded mad would have been the understatement of the year. "Und, if I don'd manage to ged my arsch oud, I vill take ahs many of de fuckers vid me ahs I cahn."

Mathieu's embrace became tighter, making Gilbert turn back to him when he buried his face into the albino's neck. He gently kissed the side of the strawberry-blonde's head.

Then there was a rough knock to the door upstairs before the clatter of it being kicked in. The thunder of many boots above their heads filled the cellar. The three froze, Francis dousing his candle, the same thought on all their minds-_What now?_

!%!%!

Notes:

Bonjour-Hello

Monsieur-Sir

French Accent-EW! I hate writing this one.

Kellar-Cellar or basement

Brothers' relationship-Fun factoid, I actually worked out how the brothers work. Francis and Arthur are fraternal twins while Alfred and Matthew are identical twins. Their parents divorced, their father taking Mathieu and Francis with him when he left for France so their mother kept Alfred and Arthur in England. Though Francis lives in a small farmhouse, the whole family is actually quite wealthy and hence are able to visit one another frequently (if not for the complication of the war).

Uhm, so, er… I'm ending it here, but if I get enough comments I might do a second chapter. And that second chapter will either be the sequel to this one or it might be of the situation Matthew and Gilbert talked about happened prior. If you liked this, please be specific.


	2. Chapter 2

Due to the er… Demands of the public, this fic now has a second chapter. Once again, I hope I did not disappoint. This fic is proof that flattery gets you everywhere with me XD

!%!%!

Gilbert being the actual military officer here, looked between the two Francophones in the room. In his beloved he found fear but his usual rebelliousness was there, in Francis? Ferocious determination, exactly what Gilbert knew he was going to find in each of them. Skating on thin ice as he was, he hoped to any deity listening that they would forgive him for not explaining before acting.

A sly smirk came over his face and he called up "_Down here_!_ Under the floor_!" There was frantic scrambling above while Mathieu looked down at his ex-lover, betrayal in his eyes. Gilbert's face flashed apologetic for a second before he up and tossed him at his older brother. They both fell to the floor as the German soldiers all stuffed their guns into the trapdoor, pointing straight down at them.

"_Are you alright Captain_?" One called down and Gilbert snorted.

"_What else would I be_? _What do you take me for, a Private_?" He sounded indignant as he looked down at Francis and Mathieu, fury clear in their eyes, Francis' own anger was so intense he was shaking.

"You _lying _sack of-!" Gilbert whipped out his crop, striking the stubbled chin roughly with it.

"Holt your tongue!" All the soldiers had their guns at the ready should the Captain ever step out of the way and give the order. "_Men_! _We were ordered to bring them back alive. There will be no killing today._" Some of the men looked relieved while there were the select few that looked _disappointed_.

Mathieu suddenly jumped to his feet, lunging at Gilbert's neck, the albino easily tripped him, punching him harshly in the side. They stood like that for a second, Gilbert laughing deep in the back of his throat, leaning in to whisper into Mathieu's ear.

"Play your roll." The smaller man twitched and Gil's eyes rolled to Francis who had since been properly restrained by two of his men. "_Load him into a car._" He ordered, Francis yelled many colorful expletives as the Nazis hauled him up to ground level. Swearing he was going to kill him as soon as he got the chance, thank God that most of the other soldiers didn't understand French. "_This one now._" Carelessly, he threw Mathieu into the arms of the waiting murderers and his heart throbbed with pain. He was a brilliant actor, sure, he could fool the best of people and he knew he was going to save Mathieu with Francis… But it still hurt him to hand him over so easily.

Upon climbing out of the cellar, Gilbert kicked the trapdoor closed, quickly approached by one of his officers.

"_Sir,_" The officer saluted, "_may I inquire about how you came to be down in the cellar with them_?" Gilbert stepped out of the house, his officer following him to watch them kick and shove the two now bound blondes into the back of a truck.

"_The Frenchman said he had to fetch something from the cellar, I heard something suspicious so I followed him and found the boy, they both shut the door before I could escape._"

"_Why didn't you just shoot them_?" The albino sighed, putting his hand to his officer's shoulder, "_Heinrich, you know me well, does that sound like me_?" Heinrich looked away, responding with "_No, sir._" They parted ways then, each going to their respective vehicles and Gilbert debated internally his next course of action.

!%!

The men all stopped for the night near the Franco-Belgium boarder, some (Gilbert included) retiring to a local pub.

"_So, what is so special about our current prisoners_?" Someone asked and the whole group at the table looked to Gilbert as he finished off a beer. He had been largely quiet the whole night and many were wondering what was wrong. "_I mean, if we're supposed to keep them alive…_" Gilbert chuckled at that, putting his empty glass down to the table.

"_The boy… Is a homosexual, escaped from Berlin and the good men trying to apprehend him two years ago. Managed to break two mens' knees I hear._" Some of them mumbled to one another about his disgusting nature. "_His brother, Francis_, _used to be a Major in the French army. After a couple years of the war though, he quit and became a pacifist._" All the men laughed and Gilbert chuckled along with them. "_Hey, I'll be right back._" He stood up and pushed his chair back in.

"_Taking a leak_?" One asked.

"_Making a phone call._" Gilbert corrected, retreating into a hallway by the bathrooms. Quickly putting change into the phone he dialed the correct number.

"_Hello_?" Came on the other end of the line.

"_I need to get a hold of Lieutenant Ludwig Beilschmidt_." He explained politely, there was silence on the end of the line while he was connected.

"_What_?" His usually irritated brother's voice came through the phone.

"_Hello Lutz._" There was silence, Ludwig was considering hanging up the phone. There was a kind of agreement going on between them, Ludwig didn't report him so long as they never spoke. It had been three years since they had last talked and four since they saw each other. "_I know this is in… Violation of our agreement._"

"_What do you want_?" Irritation went to anger and Gilbert sighed.

"_I love you, brother._" Something of a growl emanated from the earpiece of Gilbert's phone, he closed his eyes, "_We're not ever going to see each other again, you know…_" The growl stopped at the mournful note in his older brother's voice, Ludwig was listening now. "_We're probably never going to talk again either, even if I live through what I'm about to do._"

"_Brother, what are you going…"_

"_Something you would think wretched and stupid… But I love him._" There was a snort, bitter and devoid of humor.

"_So you found him. Hiding with that F-_"

"_They were your friends once too._" Gilbert cut him off before he could say something detrimental to the last remains of family he had. Even if that family now thought him a traitor. "_I forgive you._"

"_I am not the one here that needs to be forgiven_!" Ludwig roared into the phone and Gilbert smiled., "_I am not the one th-_"

"_Please, shut up._" Tears pricked at his red eyes, "_For two minutes… Pretend that nothing is wrong with me. Pretend that… We are still family._" No response, Gilbert was happy for the distance the phone put between his brother and he. Crying in front of anyone was not an option, crying _over_ anyone wasn't either, but his brother was one of the few exceptions in his life. The one man who had wronged him over and over and he was always willing to forgive him. His last true family he had left. "_Say that I'm doing this over a woman, what would you tell me_?" There was a long moment where there was no noise again, then Ludwig sighed.

"_I would say do as you please. If you feel that strongly, do what you think is right for you. I… I love you too, brother._"

"_Thank you._" Gilbert dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief, "_Goodbye._" He hung up the phone before Ludwig could respond, quickly dialing another number. He had to go through quite a few hoops to get this call to work, but in the end he was connected.

"Gilbert?" A man with an English accent answered, "Where are you calling from?"

"Nod impordand. Ve hef your bruders." Rustling on the other end of the phone told Gilbert that he now had the Englishman's undivided attention.

"Is this some sort of-"

"Noh, you und I neet to ged dem zomevhere safe. Ve ahre near Belgium's boarter." Arthur, much like Ludwig had, snorted.

"As lovely an idea as it is to attempt to get the two of them across the English Channel, I'm going to have to say no."

"Dey ahre your bruders. You hef de influence to ged to dem! _Safe_ dem!" It was becoming harder and harder to keep his voice down. "Take id from zomevon dat jus' sait gootbye to his bruder fur de lasd time… Id feels awful. Dey vill **die** if you do nod do zomeding." Gilbert angrily warned, silence on the other side of the phone. "_You_ vill be deir muterer… Nod me."

"You know Gilbert," Arthur started, sounding pensive, "you were Francis' best friend. And I never really respected why. Of all of us, my brothers, your brother, Antonio, Roderich, Feliciano, Lovino, you were the lowest of all. You were nasty and sarcastic, underhanded, selfish, _perverted_-look what you did to Mathieu… But I suppose it never really showed at all that the only thing you ever held loyalties to was family."

"Id's de only ding vord pudding your trusd ihn."

"While I might not completely agree with you there… What do you propose to do about Francis and Mathieu?" Gilbert sighed in relief, with such an emotionally draining day, it was nice that something was going right.

"I neet you to zent a boad." He rattled off some coordinates, Arthur hurriedly scribbling them down. Gilbert sighed one last time, "I don'd know if I vill be vid dem."

"Why not?" Arthur sounded as worried as he was curious.

"Istn'd id obfious?" The Englishman on the line didn't say anything, he didn't even try to fight Gilbert's reasoning. At least the albino was realistic.

"How long will you need?"

"Dree days ahd mosd."

"Three, okay. If they aren't waiting there on the third day… I'll work something else out."

"You bedder. Or my fucking ghosd vill come back to haund you." They both chuckled.

"I would expect nothing less from an ornery bastard like you."

"Gootbye Arthur."

"Goodbye." They both ended their call and Gilbert took a deep breath. Time to undo his wrongs.

Returning to the table everyone greeted him warmly, his _friends_ and comrades continuing their conversation. It wasn't right that _all_ of these men, the sweetest and kindest of them (he had seen one give his food to a parentless child) had innocent blood on their hands. They were murderers one and all no matter how good they were inside. And for what? Because some bastard in a high office said that all that were different deserved to die. Gilbert many times found himself extremely grateful that he had been accepted into the ranks despite his obvious abnormalities. He attributed it to his brother being the "perfect Aryan" that he got in, his brother being proof of his "superior" heritage.

"_Men_." They all looked to him and he stood, "_I'm turning in early for the night. Long day tomorrow and all._" The soldiers all bid him a good night and he left, pulling his long dark coat around him.

Instead of going to where they were staying, he went out to the truck the two prisoners were sleeping in. The two guards standing there, he waved them off in dismissal to go join their friends in the pub or go get some sleep. Gratefully, they thanked him and went off.

Gilbert sighed and unlocked the back of the truck once they were out of sight and cautiously peered inside. In retrospect, he could have brought them something to eat as a peace offering, but it would have indeed looked strange to leave with handfuls of food.

"Francis, Mathieu…" He whispered into the darkness, the sound of one of them moving.

"Gilbert?" Mathieu's voice, there was an annoyed groan from Francis, but Matthew must've explained the situation and so didn't attack.

"Ahre eider of you hurd?" Gilbert asked quietly.

"Our bodees, not really, our egos, well, that's a different story." Francis bantered and Gilbert scoffed.

"Vhy de awesome me keeps his ego schmall." The two in the truck chuckled, Gilbert smiling and slipping a piece of paper to Mathieu.

"What's this?" The strawberry-blonde asked curiously.

"Vhat vill ged you to safedy. I vorkt zomeding oud vid Arthur." And the Frenchman laughed.

"You got heem to listen?" Francis sounded nearly incredulous, he had in truth refused beforehand to help hide Mathieu, it was amazing a man that Arthur had never really liked had managed to get through to him.

"Id took zome persuading, bud I mate id vork because I am awesome." They really didn't have time for this when any one of his men could leave the pub at any moment. "Jus' hurry id up und ged oud." Not having to be told twice, the both hopped out into the light of the streetlamps. There were bruises over Mathieu's face and a large welt on Francis' cheek. "You're like a banana." Gilbert commented, looking at the thing consuming his face.

"Noh, you just heet hard." The albino sniggered, patting his cheek roughly. "You'll be fine." A disconcerting sound of someone leaving the pub behind them broke the casual chatting. For just in that moment they were able to be friends again. Not two opposing forces in a senseless war. The two blondes looked to Gilbert expectantly, looking to the military Captain for guidance.

Hurriedly, Gilbert grabbed them, throwing them to the other side of the truck, hiding behind it with them. There was the pacing of boots as they slowly made their way towards the car Gilbert had the keys for in his pocket. The sound stopped and so did they with it.

"_Scheisse_." The officer that had discovered the empty compartment cursed. A quick scramble of boots back to the pub and the three fugitives bolted for the car. Not much time was allotted to them as Gilbert saw the first group of men begin to emerge from the building. Pressing a final kiss to Mathieu and thinking quickly, he jammed the keys into Francis' hand, gaving him one order.

"Drife." Knowing he probably was never going to see his friend or lover again, Gilbert gave them both hard pats on the back before shoving the driver's side door closed. A worried look from Mathieu while Francis glowered at him for sacrificing himself, the albino only smiled, turning to face his men. Francis threw the car into drive and sped off as the soldiers came to behold their very own Benedict Arnold. "_Hello boys._"

"_Captain_!_ Why are you…_" Heinrich's face quickly dropped as the gears turned in his head, furiously, he barked out orders at the soldiers to follow the stolen car. At first they looked to Gilbert for guidance, but he shrugged. "_He's a traitor, I am your new commanding officer_! _Go_!" All the ordered men saluted him before climbing into their cars to chase the long gone Francophones. The bulk of them stayed with Heinrich though, Gilbert staring them on.

There was a long moment of silence before Heinrich rushed Gilbert, swiping his face with the butt of his gun. Without complaint, Gilbert fell to the sidewalk, laughing to himself.

"_What is so funny_?" The German soldier kicked him in the side, the disconcerting sound of a rib cracking ringing out. Gilbert laughed harder, his own situation amused him so and Heinrich's anger did as well.

"_It's funny that you don't even ask why I did it._" Gilbert lifted his silver head to regard his first officer.

"_Why does it matter_? _I'm still going to shoot you_." A smirk came over the Prussian's face, his eyes narrowing nastily, time for Heinrich to see a side of him he had yet to show them.

"_Oh, are you_?" He sat up, rocking himself back on his heels as his temple bled down his face. His smirk never moved even when Heinrich put the gun to his forehead.

"_Yes_!" It unnerved the officer a great deal that Gilbert just sat there staring at him with that same smirk, his shoulders shaking as if holding in more of his derogatory laughter.

"_Wow, if you just shot me, it must be less painful than I remember to be shot._" Heinrich's hands shook, all the other men present looking on in confusion at the exchange. "_You've been loyal to me for five years. Old habits die hard, don't they_?" The gun barrel pressed harder to Gilbert's forehead, nearly off balancing him to land back on his butt.

"_What are you trying to say_? _That you're sympathetic to the French_?" The blonde man spat down at his ex-commander.

"_No, the Frenchman has been my friend since childhood._" Some of their men shifted uneasily now, perhaps they were thinking of persuading Heinrich to pardon him? "_And the boy… Well, he has been my lover for… Six years._" Gilbert nodded, thinking that correct amount and grinned, all the men looking totally disgusted with him; Heinrich's face held nothing more than just pure mortification. The barrel of the gun swiped his face again, tearing the skin of cheek open as he hit the ground. Another laugh tore from him and he defiantly lifted his head to look at Heinrich again, "_Going to kill me now, _ain'd-cha?" All guns were pointed on him and Heinrich kicked Gilbert's face back to the sidewalk.

"_You disgust me._" Heinrich said coldly, stalking around the albino's body as it shook with bitter chuckles. "_So much to the point that I'm _not_ going to kill you here_." Gilbert's laughter ceased and he sat up to look at Heinrich. There was no fear, only anger. Not an ounce of surprise was found on Heinrich's face, only a cruel smile of his own. "_You know exactly what I mean._"

"_Kill me you screwed-up motherfucker_!" Gilbert ordered, getting to his feet, to be bludgeoned with the butt of Heinrich's gun for a second time. This time the blow shook his world and made him dizzy when the ground rushed up to meet him.

"_You deserve a fate worse than death._"

"_That's not for you to decide_! _Protocol says to _kill_ all disloyal soldiers_!" Gilbert hissed angrily, unable to right his shaking world.

"_And since when did you ever teach us to follow protocol to a T_?" It was the last thing Gilbert heard before everything went dark.

!%!

Stripped of rank, dishonorably discharged then stripped of hair, clothes, stripped of _humanity _and given a number in place of a name on his arm. It all happened so fast it was surreal, not more than once though did Gilbert ask himself "was it worth it?". The exact same second he asked himself that was he able to answer it with absolute certainty, _yes_. It was a near constant question of whether or not the two men survived that he couldn't answer and it tore at him inside.

His hips jutted out at hard angles, shoulders harshly square, ribs, well, each one was as distinct as a key on a xylophone. The bones of his gaunt face were so prominent the skin just appeared to be hanging off them. Being able to see a living skeleton of a human was not the most interesting thing about this inmate though. The real treat to onlookers were the scars covering his pallid, nearly see-through skin. If you were lucky, he would turn to look with his brilliant red eyes.

The only color on his body was his eyes, his hair (when given the chance to) grew in silver, veins could easily be seen racing just beneath his surface. It was as if in taking his freedom, the Nazis had also washed away all his color. Save for that one part of him, his radiant, accusing and defiantly red eyes. A single look from him was all it took anyone to tell what he was thinking.

"Fuck you and all you stand for." And this commonly got him in trouble. Unabashedly he would curse out the guards, egging them on to shoot him. He threw himself at them more than once, but no. His reputation preceded him. He was a man that was under no circumstances to be shot. That didn't stop the guards from having a bit of fun with him. They beat him mercilessly and every time he just seemed to scream for more. Wanting this life to be over, wanting to die. Many times he was reminded where he would be going if he died, but it did little to deter him. Every time he just said "I deserve it anyway".

To the guards he was an annoyance, a thorn in their sides constantly making things difficult. To the inmates, he was much the same. He was selfish, often times when he gave the guards trouble they gave it right back to his fellow inmates. A handful of the prisoners liked him, none of them ever helped him as he ordered them to never try. Multitudes saw that he wasn't a bad man at all, many questioned why he was truly there. When asked he said "I'm here because I loved too much." Most took that as he slept around when off duty, others never looked into it, perhaps two knew what he meant.

For two years he had been here, Buchenwald, working and praying for death, sadly, it never came. This morning though, he sat in the opening of his barrack, nibbling a meager piece of bread. The guards were in a rush, pulling people out of other rooms. It hit him rather early what they were doing, they were being evacuated. Gilbert snorted and shoved himself shakily to his feet, walking into his room to warn the rest of his mates.

"Damazyn." He gathered the attention quickly of the Polish engineer, he looked up slowly, he had never really liked Gilbert, but raised his brows in question. "Dey're trying to evacuade us now. Bartel und Kuhn neet to know." Gwidon nodded his head, quickly getting up and setting out to find the two leaders of the prisoners' underground. The generator and radio transmitter they had been constructing would really be useful about now. Too bad it wasn't operational yet. Hopefully they would have it finished by the end of the day.

For the rest of that day, Gilbert did whatever he could to divert attention from himself and his specific barrack. Which, in a way only attracted attention, but if the guards didn't have to worry about him, all the better for them. It was certainly hectic and Gilbert had to bid farewell to many good souls as he had been for the past two years.

The next day however… News was received of the active radio transmitter, they had managed to get a message through to General Patton's army. They had promised help as soon as they were able… It hadn't taken the inmates long to take up the store of rifles, Gilbert included. Ninety-one rifles and a single machine gun was all it took for the mass of prisoners to overtake the remaining guards in a hurry. Most of the guards had left the prior day to evacuate the prisoners they had.

Truth be told, Gilbert did feel a little guilty finally having a gun back in his hands. Unlike before, however, he didn't feel like a murderer. These men were the ones that deserved what they got, just like he did… As the prisoners celebrated in what ways they could at their unexpected victory, he stood where he was and examined the rifle in his arms.

Did he now want to survive? His body quaked and _ached_, the mind was weary from years of mistreatment as well, he now had a definitive way of ending it all…

"Gilbert!" At the cry of his name, he looked up to his friend, a man named Misha, a Soviet P.O.W.

"Vhat?" The raggedy man responded, the Russian giving a dulcet cheer of happiness.

"Eet's ofer! Dey're coming for us!" His blue eyes sparkled with enthusiasm not known for the four years he had been there. Gilbert just gave a sober smile.

"_Ja_, id's ofer." Maybe he could wait just a little bit longer, for Misha's sake if not his own.

Two days passed quickly, April eleventh, the US Third Army arrived, given a welcome expected by heros. The men and women strong enough to lift the Americans did so with pride, throwing them enthusiastically into the air.

Amid all the celebration and the provisions being provided to the badly emaciated humans, a strange thing caught Gilbert's eye. A young corporal, no older than twenty-seven at most was leaning down by a woman, helping her eat. His bright, blue eyes, overcast by glasses looked strangely familiar. A piece of his blonde hair stuck up in the front and he had a merry, almost naïve pep to his voice. But his shining brilliance in this dark place was not what interested Gilbert so. It was the very shape of him. His height was perfect, his face was a perfect match (of course, the eyes were a different color) and even his _age_ had to be around the same place. The very spitting image of his Mathieu.

When he stood up, giving the woman a few kind words of gentle encouragement and began to walk away, Gilbert seized his chance. Mathieu had an older brother, a twin even, but they had never met as he lived in America. It was a long shot, but one he would always regret passing up if he didn't take it. Tentatively pursuing him on his trek through the camp of broken humans he finally caught up to him near the edge of it.

Reaching out to grab the taller one's arm he asked, "Alfred?" Gilbert had not realized just how needy he had been until he had opened his mouth, all his hope being poured into one name. The soldier stopped, turning to face him curiously, tipping his head to the side. His eyes raced up and down this barely recognizable creature, even less recognizable as he was definitively an albino.

"Have we met?" The blonde inquired, his face going from merely curious to puzzlement. The name on his coat read "Jones" not Alfred. At the huge smile that broke out over the inmate's face his own went to total and complete bewilderment.

"No, ve nefer hef. Bud I know your bruder." For half a second, the blonde looked dubious, he had three brothers after all, "Mathieu, ve vere very goot freunds." Recognition finally sparked on the American's face and he stepped back from Gilbert, confusing the badly mistreated man. "Vhat?"

"You're Gilbert, aren't you…?" His brows pulled together in thought, Gilbert taking this as a bad sign.

"Yes, bud, how dit you-"

"Mathieu has spoken of you more than once." Wait… His wording…

"Has? I-Is he…"

"Alive and well. Been living up in Canada for the past year and a half." Gilbert's confused face reordered itself into another huge grin, his heart positively singing with joy. His face went into his hands, tears pouring down his cheeks. "He misses you a lot." A heavy hand touched itself to his boney shoulder and his knees gave out, Alfred catching him to hold him up. "I'm not going to tell him you're alive though." The moment was ruined, Gilbert shoving hard against him, knocking the man to the ground with him sitting atop him.

"Vhy nod!" He growled angrily, his weak hands going to Alfred's corded neck. The American gently took his wrists and removed them, the desperate Prussian's hands shaking.

"Wouldn't it be so much cooler to surprise him?" So innocently and sweetly posed, all Gilbert could do was stare down at him like he was an idiot. No wonder Arthur only ever described him as such. Sighing with relief though, he collapsed down on the chuckling American. These awful days were over.

!%!

As annoying and idiotic as Alfred was, he really did help. At his nearest convenience he had Gilbert taken to London. So there Gilbert stood, staring at the huge house Arthur had built before the war started. He still had never seen it before in his life and his skeletal mouth hung open wide in awe. The man accompanying him chuckled a little bit and he remembered his dignity, closing his mouth and looking back to him. He thanked the man and dismissed him, taking a few steps from the sidewalk through the gate towards the house. Getting up to the front door he sighed, Alfred said he hadn't had the time between making arrangements and work to call Arthur to tell him. He knocked three times, folding his hands behind his back nervously thereafter.

The large front door was pulled inward and he was greeted by the judging eyes of a maid. She narrowed her eyes at him, "Sorry, we don't take solicitors." Afterwards, she tried to close the door, but Gilbert shoved himself against the door.

"I'm nod a homeless man." Not technically true as probably his home in Berlin had been cannibalized. "I'm a freund of Mr. Kirklant." She gave him a look of "yeah right" before closing the door and grudgingly going to retrieve the Englishman.

For the second time the door was wrenched open, but this time a short, blonde man with green eyes stood in the doorway. As usual he looked annoyed, but one simply couldn't help it if they had a permanent case of mad-face. At first his head winced back, seemingly disgusted by the living skeleton before him.

"_Hallo_ Arthur." Again the Englishman was taken aback, his mouth falling open much like Gilbert's had earlier.

"Oh my… _Gilbert_?" When the Prussian nodded he moved from the way, quickly beckoning him into the house and ordering his maids to either get him some tea, food or new clothes; the only set he had was what he was given from the camp. "You can tell me everything later, for now, I'll have some food made and you go take a shower." He started to help the weak man up the stairs but he resisted what little he could.

"I voult prefer de foot firsd. I mighd pass oud in de schover." Gilbert told him and Arthur nodded his head, moving him to a large sitting room, letting him sit on a large couch to recline. When the maids came back with cut fruit, a loaf of bread and some soup, the albino dug voraciously into it. It had taken Alfred three days to get him out of there and though they were given food and water in that time, it wasn't much. Arthur just sat and watched, knowing Gilbert would talk in his own time.

His body shook with the richness and flavor of the food, never again would he take it for granted. The fruit was gone first, he decided he missed sugars the most out of everything, the tea was next then the soup. At the end he was left tossing what was left of the bread from hand to hand. He shouldn't have eaten so much so quickly, but it was nice to be able to do so.

"So, what happened to you?" Arthur tentatively asked, sipping a cup of his own tea. Gilbert's tired eyes flicked to him as he began to slip into a "food-coma".

"_Konzentrationslager Buchenwald_. Two years of id." He sighed contentedly and Arthur nearly dropped his tea.

"Buchenwald? The camp liberated four days ago?" When Gilbert nodded he stuttered a little bit, "H-How did you get here?"

"Alfred vas dere." Arthur stared at him, speechless, "I know," Gilbert allowed himself a smile, "a miracle."

"You've never met Alfred, though."

"He lookt like Mathieu, soh… Who else coult id hef been? I vas lucky…" A small nibble on the bread piece and he continued, "He zait he's nod going to tell Mathieu because he vants id to be a surprise dat I'm alife."

Arthur snorted, rolling his eyes, "That's cruel to the both of you."

"Maybe, bud I like de itea righd now…" Gilbert looked to his emaciated form and rubbed his head that had small tufts of white growing on it once more

"Were you sent there for…"

"I vas zend dere because von, I vas a traitor, two, because of my lof fur Mathieu. A P.O.W. und a homozexual, vhat bedder place to zent me den Buchenwald?" He laughed bitterly, "Ahd leasd I know I annoyt de hell oudda dem vhile dere." The two men carried on their conversation until Gilbert couldn't stay awake any longer and fell asleep on the couch.

Arthur sighed, he was going to have to remind him to take a shower when he woke up, but for now, he could let him sleep. He heard the front door open and close, signaling his brother had walked in from work.

"Arthur!" Francis' voice echoed throughout the house in his search for his brother. The green-eyed blonde sighed and poked his head out of the sitting room into the hallway.

"Shut your loud face, you damn frog." The Englishman whispered, perplexing Francis.

"Why are you whispering?"

"We have a guest." Francis' brows went up and he rolled his eyes.

"Okay, what kind of 'guest'?"

"Gilbert." All the irritation dropped off of Francis' face, then returned ten fold.

"He ees dead you bastard! You weell show so-" Angered by his brother's thick-headedness, Arthur grabbed him by the collar of his frilly shirt and yanked him into the room with him. A firm kick to Francis' backside had him sprawled out rather ungracefully on the white, tile floor.

Growling, Francis thrust himself up from the floor, his eyes falling upon the sleeping figure on the couch. It barely even looked like the man that had saved his younger brother and he. The deep, sunken cheeks and eye sockets, the skin hanging from the bones and the raggedy clothing; the way his face was creased with age, worry and despair even in sleep, this man _couldn't _have been Gilbert. But he was about the same height, his hair (what little there was of it on the shaved head) was white, his skin unmistakably pale…

"What happened to heem?" Slowly, unsure, Francis stepped over to his sleeping corpse of a friend.

"He said he was sent to Buchenwald after saving you two. Believe it or not, the Americans that liberated the camp, it was Alfred's unit. Mathieu doesn't know." Arthur recapped for him, the Frenchman standing over Gilbert as he slept. But his close proximity was enough to wake the light sleeper. As the red eyes slid open, it was the seal to the deal, yep, this was definitely Gilbert.

"_Hallo_, how hef you been, fucker?" The albino sat himself up again, leaning on he arm of the couch, leaving Francis speechless. "Vhat? Dit you dink I vas deat?" Francis didn't verbally respond, he just jerked his head in a nod and Gilbert shrugged, "Vell, I doughd I vas going to be too. Bud no such luck."

"I would hug you eef I didn't theenk I'd break you."

"Led's keep id dat vay." A haggard, straw-thin hand reached up to Francis, asking for assistance in standing, which the Frenchman eagerly complied, surprised at just how light his friend was. He couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds. "Now, I reek of de decay I vas surrountet by fur two years. I'm taking a mutter-fuckin' schover." With the help of Francis, Gilbert hobbled up the stairs to the bathroom, locking Francis out once within. The maids had left a pile of clothes for him on the desk, they were probably Arthur's clothes now that he thought about it.

To be totally honest, the shower itself was heavenly, the best any of them had hoped for in Buchenwald was a bucket of cold water thrown at them. Most of the time the water wasn't even clean and the inmates got sick afterwards. He could sure get used to this again.

!%!

Five days in Arthur's house with the two bickering blondes and god did he ever wish they would just shut the fuck up. His body was starting to take on a more natural shape again, being able to eat well for but a week did him good. This particular morning he awoke, however, he heard an extra voice bickering below. Probably Alfred had come to visit on a moment off. Sighing, Gilbert sat up and stretched, his muscles finally able to stand up to such a stress.

Pulling on a white robe, he walked out of the room and down the stairs. The sounds of what they were actually fighting about reaching his ears.

"No, no, no! Shut up! Do you have any id-" Started a young and echo-distorted voice, cut off by a French-accented older one.

"But you haven't even asked why we-"

"Let's just show him already!" English accent spelled out that it was Arthur, but who were they talking to if not Alfred?

"Voult you ahll jus schud up!" Gilbert broke into the kitchen, "Please! Fur de lasd two days I'fe been voken up by your conschtand yelling!" The older brothers looked back at Gilbert, revealing the other blonde in the room to be none other than Mathieu.

Purple met red and time stopped, the two just stood and stared. It would have been stupid of Gilbert to admit how vulnerable he felt then, standing in the middle of a kitchen in nothing but a white robe.

"G-Gil…?" Mathieu's head furiously whipped to his brothers "What is this?" the furious blonde pulled his French brother to him, hissing "You told me he was **dead**!"

"_We really thought he was_!" Francis exclaimed in French, afraid for the first time in his life of the slighter man in glasses.

"Id's okay Mathieu." Gilbert had just snapped out of his stupor. It wasn't like he was never expecting to see Mathieu ever again or anything. He knew it was a very likely thing to happen the moment Alfred said he was going to get him out of Buchenwald. But theory and practice were two very different experiences.

The Canadian dropped his brother and rushed over to Gilbert, almost expecting the Prussian strong enough to catch him. At the last second, he took in the man's sorry form. Sixty pounds lighter than he last saw him and for once, the truly smaller one in the relationship. Mathieu had always been taller, but Gilbert usually more than made up for the lost inch in the fullness of his muscle. Now he seemed so weak and so small.

The two threw their arms around each other, Mathieu weeping into Gilbert's neck and the albino doing much the same.

"Never make me do that again." Mathieu ordered, kissing Gilbert's jaw.

"Do vhat?"

"Twice you made me run and you suffer the consequences just so I could live." He pulled back and looked at Gilbert sternly, "It's my turn to protect you. You've been through enough by the looks of things…" They both smiled to one another and the albino nodded.

"I dink I cahn do dat." Their arms gripped each other tighter as their lips carefully touched. Yes, everything bad that had ever threatened to end their love was inferior to the power of it. The war, the endless bullets, even a Nazi concentration camp wasn't enough. Now they could truly say they were together, and to hell with the rest of the world that tried to tear them apart.

!%!%!

Notes:

Scheisse-Shit (English spelling)

Gwidon Damazyn-A Polish engineer held in Buchenwald, responsible for building a generator and radio transmitter he used to contact a nearby US battalion after overtaking another concentration camp close by (Ohrdruf).

Bartel and Kuhn-The last names of the two prisoners' underground leaders.

Buchenwald Resistance-Using 1 machine gun and 91 rifles the prisoners had been collecting since 1942, considering the bulk of the soldiers working within the camp had fled due to the oncoming allied forces, the prisoners managed to kill the remaining guards and take over the camp on April 9th 1945. (Tid bit, Buchenwald is also the camp in which author Elie Wiesel was kept at.)

Misha-Anyone that knows me should know where this name comes from XD

AAAAnyway, here is the end, I had to make it long and I'm happy that I did. I loved writing this and sorry if the end seems a bit rushed. My academic advisor is threatening to kill me if I don't stop writing so damn much…


End file.
